Chapter Text
There were many things in Yasuhiro’s life that made him feel like a failure.
Getting arrested at 13. Seeing the look on his parents' faces when they learned what he had been doing to get him arrested. Not being able to help Izana and watching him die feet away from him. Having been played for a fool and nearly murdered by the man who currently slept in the other room, effectively ignoring him, and refusing to acknowledge his existence yet again.
All of those things were terrible in their own right, and battered his self-worth so badly that it made him reconsider every single thing he had ever known, but nothing was quite as bad as this.
Being told he was hated by Haruchiyo, even if the deepest part of his heart knew that this could not be true, really was doing a number on his brain. Haruchiyo had not spoken to him beyond a few words in two weeks, and refused to look him in the eye, much preferring to stare directly at his feet when they accidentally bumped into each other in the common area of their apartment.
Yasuhiro tried to look on the bright side of things. At least Haruchiyo was making himself comfortable in his own room now?
But he knew that was a stupid thing to celebrate. If he even so much as said that thought out loud, Haruchiyo would sneer at him and call him an idiot before stalking off back to his bedroom.
Maybe he should say it then, Yasuhiro considered. At least it would get Haruchiyo to talk to him again.
A sharp pain plagued his chest as he continued to think about Haruchiyo. Inhaling deeply, Yasuhiro rubbed a hand over his scar, massaging it through his shirt, the ugly scar tissue hard and irritated. It had strangely been bothering him more lately, though Yasuhiro suspected that this was simply because he was more aware of it than ever before.
Ever since the scar healed over, Yasuhiro had done his best to ignore it. Other than a daily application of a scar cream his physician had recommended, he tried to not even touch it, the dead nerve endings and lack of sensation giving him chills. If he was honest with himself, he hated the fact that this was on his body too, but he did not hate Haruchiyo for giving it to him.
He knew Haruchiyo was misguided. He knew that he put his loyalty in the wrong places. And he knew that he didn’t try hard enough to show Haruchiyo how he cared for him when they were young, but he also did not know how deeply the bond Haruchiyo held for Mikey ran.
No matter the action, no matter the reasoning or the cause. Yasuhiro just couldn’t bring himself to place any negative feelings on Haruchiyo. Sure he felt exhausted trying to solve what was wrong between them. And he was sad that the work he put in to resolve their miscommunication and disagreements did not seem to be reciprocated. But those negative feelings were towards the situation, not towards Haruchiyo.
But Haruchiyo…he said that he hated him.
“I still hate you.”
Yasuhiro didn’t believe it. He refused to. Because still. After all of this time? After everything Yasuhiro had done? He swore things were getting better…he swore he understood Haruchiyo a little bit more.
Shaking his head, Yasuhiro dropped his hand, refraining from touching the scar any longer. The no negative feelings thing was a lie. He felt bitter.
And he hated that.
He felt bitter that Haruchiyo couldn’t be honest with himself for a single second. He felt bitter that Haruchiyo was taking him on another emotional whirlwind, dragging him down and making him suffer. He felt bitter that Haruchiyo was once again making him worry every second they were not in the same apartment, because Yasuhiro couldn’t trust that Haruchiyo would not do something stupid while he was away at work.
Because Haruchiyo was stupid when he was upset. He made poor decisions and always ended up getting into something that hurt him. Usually narcotics, and Yasuhiro wouldn’t allow that to slip into their lives again. Not when Haruchiyo had been doing so well.
But he couldn’t trust him. Not when Haruchiyo couldn’t show that he trusted himself.
I still hate you.
Yasuhiro knew that this was a lie. Plain and simple, it was a lie. Haruchiyo didn’t hate him.
Haruchiyo hated himself.
He hated himself for what he had done, and hated that he was a burden on Yasuhiro’s paycheck and simple, solitary life. Even if he wasn’t, Yasuhiro had not been able to convince him otherwise, not for a lack of trying.
Every mean, cruel word Haruchiyo sent his way, Yasuhiro now understood to be a reflection of Haruchiyo’s own inner turmoil.
You’re an idiot?
I’m an idiot for staying with you when I don’t deserve such kindness.
You’re a fool?
I’m a fool for believing that I could be happy again, when all I deserve is to rot and die and lose it all. Again and again.
I hate you?
I hate myself.
Haruchiyo hated himself. He didn’t know how to do anything else. Yasuhiro suspected that Haruchiyo always had, ever since they were children. Haruchiyo’s life had never exactly been peaches, at least according to the pieces of himself that Haruchiyo had deemed appropriate to share with him. He had been an angry little boy when Yasuhiro had first met him. And he had just grown into an angry man.
The happiness that came in between, in the years that they were close to one another, Yasuhiro had cherished. It was the thing he missed the most, and was so desperate to reclaim now that Haruchiyo was back… But now he understood.
It was all a facade.
A wall, one that Yasuhiro was still trying to figure out how to climb, topped with barbed wire and spikes and snipers, still stood between them, as strong as the day Yasuhiro had pulled him off the streets.
The cracks that Yasuhiro thought he was making was simply a crack in the gate, big enough for Haruchiyo to peek one green eye out of. And the gates had snapped shut the moment Haruchiyo had laid eyes on his chest. The gates that were wrapped with chains and locks, with hounds circling the door to snap at his hands should he ever try to unlock them.
But aat times, it felt like there was more than just a wall between them. Truly, it was more like a cage than a wall, and it trapped Haruchiyo inside of it, allowing him to stew in his self-imposed misery forever.
Forever and ever, until Yasuhiro gave up, or until Haruchiyo did.
Yasuhiro swore, promised on the grave Haruchiyo had dug for him, that he would not be the one to give up.
He would keep trying, just as he had for the last few months. Business as usual.
Grabbing the plates he had been preparing, Yasuhiro walked to their living room, setting them down on the coffee table. Carefully, he walked to Haruchiyo’s door, knocking twice before pausing to listen for a response. Hearing none, Yasuhiro hung his head, knocking once more before calling out.
“Dinner is ready.”
Again, hearing nothing but silence as he pressed his ear to the wood of the door, Yasuhiro peeled himself away despite wanting to call out again and again until Haruchiyo got angry with him, lashing out and shouting at Yasuhiro to leave him alone.
At least it would be a reaction.
At least it would be better than the nothing he was receiving now.
Sitting on the couch, Yasuhiro turned on the TV so he could view the nightly news. He always watched the full broadcast these days, just in case something was mentioned about the ongoing search for the Bonten executives, particularly, for Haruchiyo. Apparently they had been more active lately. To achieve what goal? Yasuhiro could not be sure. He just knew that he may have to face his past soon, to protect Haruchiyo from his own.
Soon, yes, but not as soon as tonight. Not as soon as today.
He had barely started his dinner, pushing the food around the plate as he listened to the daily weather update, when a sharp knock rang out on their front door. Yasuhiro had to admit that he hadn’t really been very hungry, but a disruption at dinner time was not what he had expected this evening. Yasuhiro very rarely had visitors, and if anyone came knocking on their door, it was typically a delivery person, or their landlord coming to check on a maintenance order that had been requested.
But tonight, Yasuhiro had not ordered anything for delivery. And it was after hours, so their landlord wouldn’t be coming to check on the cracked window pane that Yasuhiro had reported in Haruchiyo’s room. So he had no idea who it could be, or what the purpose behind the visit was.
Pressing his eye to the peephole in the door, Yasuhiro observed a man that looked vaguely familiar, but Yasuhiro could not place. His appearance made Yasuhiro’s mouth dry up, a sense of dread filling his body as he unlocked the door. Immediately on guard, Yasuhiro opened the door only a crack, just enough so he could peer out at his visitor, his right foot blocking the door from opening any further.
The man smiled as Yasuhiro opened the door, though the smile was fake and tired and didn’t reach his eyes. A scar crossed the length of his face from top to bottom, and he smelled strongly of cigarette smoke, the odor reaching his nose before any other smell in the hallway.
Yasuhiro swallowed thickly as he met the man’s eyes, throat seeming to close up as he observed their shape and color, the strange sense of recognition dawning on him as he waited for the visitor to speak.
“Hello,” The man greeted, clearly uncomfortable with this encounter as well. His hands were deep in the pockets of his coat, and Yasuhiro could only imagine what he was hiding within them. “Muto, correct? If you had a few minutes, I would really like to come inside and talk to you for just a little while.”
Yasuhiro inhaled deeply, trying to find his voice to respond to the man’s request. “I’m sorry, how do you know me?”
“That isn’t important. What is important is what I have to tell you, so if you could just -” Stepping forward slightly, requesting to come inside again, the man stopped when Yasuhiro inched the door forward, closing it just that much more.
“I don’t think that will be possible. I don’t allow strangers into my home.” Yasuhiro felt his fingers tighten around the doorknob, ready to slam the door and flip the lock as quickly as he needed to. He was sure his knuckles were white, and that was about the only thing he was sure of as he tried to decide whether or not denying entry to this man was the correct call. “Who are you?”
“I understand your hesitation, but for your own personal safety, I would advise we continue this conversation inside.”
Frowning, Yasuhiro watched as the man slid one arm out of his coat, rolling up the sleeve of his button down shirt to expose the tattoo plastered onto his left arm. The very same that still covered a significant portion of Haruchiyo’s right.
Trying to keep the shock out of his voice as he moved so that he could fully open the door, gesturing for the man to come inside, Yasuhiro greeted him politely.
“Welcome to my home. I didn’t catch your name.”
“You can call me Akashi. You don’t need to know my full name. Are we alone?”
Akashi. The same name that the news said Haruchiyo may be using as an alias. It also dawned on Yasuhiro at that moment that it was also the same name of the number that had continuously called Haruchiyo until he smashed his phone to thousands of tiny bits.
Yasuhiro did not answer his question, not wanting to expose Haruchiyo to harm if he could prevent it. Even if harm stood less than 100 feet from his bedroom door. Yasuhiro didn’t need to answer him though, as Akashi’s eyes trailed over to the two unfinished plates of food.
“What can I help you with tonight?”
“I’m just looking for a missing person, and some of my trails have led me here. Or at least, it led me to your old apartment, and your old apartment’s information led me here.”
Yasuhiro nodded slowly, not responding to any of the open ended statements Akashi made. He could tell that the older man was trying to get him to say something without being asked directly. Yasuhiro knew how to answer a question in the vaguest way possible, so that the asker never really received a full, straightforward response.
“You may have heard that one of our executives has gone missing.” Another statement, and Akashi looked straight at him as he paused, waiting for Yasuhiro to say anything. Yasuhiro did his best to remain stone faced, a skill well used over the years to hide himself from people who wanted to hurt him or those he cared about.
“He’s my brother.”
A crack in the stone, Yasuhiro’s eyebrows turned downward, confused by the statement. Haruchiyo always maintained that he was an only child. That fact… or maybe it was a lie… was what brought them close in the first place.
“I just want to know if he is alive or dead.”
“You want to convince him to come back with you.”
Akashi shrugged, noncommittal and inconclusive in his response.
“If he comes back, we will accept him. But if not…”
Trailing off, Akashi’s gaze shifted from Yasuhiro’s face to just over his shoulder. Yasuhiro didn’t want to turn around and take his eyes off of this man, unable to gauge the level of danger they were in, but knew, with the squeak of the bedroom door and with the way his eyes softened, that there was only one thing, one person, he was staring at.
Turning around, Yasuhiro stared at the cracked bedroom door, Haruchiyo’s green eyes peering out of the darkness, lips turned down into a frown as his gaze flitted from Yasuhiro to his brother .
“Haruchiyo, go back -”
“Leave.” Stepping out from behind the door, Haruchiyo entered the living room, striding forward to stand between Yasuhiro and Akashi. “Get out of here. Leave Mucho alone.”
Not intimidated one little bit by the attempt at a threatening display, Akashi’s guise of seriousness seemed to deflate, and he relaxed, a hand on his chest as he sighed in relief.
“You’re alive.”
“No, I’m dead. You didn’t see me. Now leave .” Haruchiyo stepped backwards, his hands behind his back pushing Yasuhiro, forcing him back another step, keeping him away from Akashi.
“Your position is still yours. If you want it,” Akashi offered, not following Haruchiyo’s retreat.
“I don’t.”
“I’ll give you time to think about it,” Akashi stated, lifting his hand to look at the watch on his wrist. “A week or two should be enough. I will see you then.”
Haruchiyo didn’t say a word, and Yasuhiro could only imagine the look on his face as he curled his fingers into the front of Yasuhiro’s shirt, holding on to him like a vice, struggling with his grip on this reality.
Akashi just sighed as he looked at his little brother, rubbing his face with his hand as he headed towards the front door. Before stepping outside, Akashi turned around one last time, looking his brother straight in the eye.
“No one else knows you’re here, Haruchiyo.”
“Fuck them if they do know. I don’t care.” His voice was biting, and Yasuhiro was glad for once that he wasn’t on the other end of it. So Haruchiyo would know he was still there, Mucho placed his hand on his back, not pushing him forward, just giving pressure to let him know.
“I have you.”
Akashi bit his lip, holding back whatever it was he was wanting to respond to Haruchiyo with. He simply nodded his head, opening the door as he repeated himself.
“I will see you both again. Soon.” Looking Haruchiyo up and down, appraising him and his current state, a small smile found its way onto the man’s face. “You look like you’re doing well. You’ve finally gained some weight.”
Haruchiyo remained strong until the door closed, his face falling as he rushed to the door, locking it behind the man and sliding the chain into place. As if that would stop the people that were looking for him.
Slamming the door once, twice with his fist, Haruchiyo let out a frustrated shout, forehead meeting the door as he slammed against it. Yasuhiro approached him, determined to peel him away from the wood so that he wouldn’t hurt himself.
“Don’t touch me!” Slapping his hands away, Haruchiyo evaded his touch, attempting to retreat into his bedroom. Sticking his hand in the way of the door, Yasuhiro winced as Haruchiyo slammed the door on him, nearly crushing his fingers in the swing. Haruchiyo’s face immediately fell, realizing that once again, he had hurt Yasuhiro out of anger and pain.
Flexing his fingers, Yasuhiro assessed the damage. Nothing broken, except the look on Haruchiyo’s face as he watched Yasuhiro open and close his hand.
“I’m sorry…” Haruchiyo dropped his face, observing his toes as they curled into the carpet, refusing to look anywhere near Yasuhiro.
Flexing his hand once more, Yasuhiro reached out, grabbing Haruchiyo by the shoulders.
Was that the first time Haruchiyo had apologized to him?
Yes…he thinks that it might just be.
Haruchiyo wasn’t one to apologize for his past actions. Yasuhiro was. He had said it so many times, just in passing, for small things. Little things that he knew upset Haruchiyo. But never once had Haruchiyo ever said he was sorry for his actions, even if the guilt and regret was so apparent on his face that it covered him like a mask.
Haruchiyo never said he was sorry, but for this…Yasuhiro wondered what he was sorry for. Was it for smashing his fingers in the door with all the strength in his little body, or for bringing a dangerous organization into their home, threatening his life, and making things just that much more difficult for him.
Yasuhiro didn’t care.
He didn’t want Haruchiyo to feel like a burden, so he did not acknowledge the apology.
“You don’t have to go with them,” Yasuhiro began, squeezing Haruchiyo’s boney shoulders. “I know that you think it's your only option, but you can stay here. This is our home, Haruchiyo.”
“They’ll kill you,” Haruchiyo mumbled, his voice barely audible as he continued the stare down with his toes.
Yasuhiro wished he would look at him.
“Would they? I hear a few of them are some old friends. I wonder if I could convince them to let you go -”
“ No. ” Haruchiyo hissed, finally looking up at him. Yasuhiro half expected Haruchiyo to have tears in his eyes, but the rage and anger he saw was much more fitting for his companion. “I don’t want you to.”
“Why not?” Yasuhiro whispered, wanting an honest answer from him. For once, he wanted Haruchiyo to tell him the truth.
He didn’t want him to lie anymore.
He didn’t want him to hide his feelings, whatever those feelings may be.
If Haruchiyo hated him? That was fine, as long as it was real.
But if there was something else….he wanted to hear it and see it behind those angry green eyes.
However, Haruchiyo didn’t say a word. Instead, he placed his hands on top of Yasuhiro’s, holding them there as he stared, trying to communicate the thoughts bouncing around that head that couldn’t be put into words.
Yasuhiro sighed. It would have to be him. He’d have to save it all again. So that Haruchiyo would know he wasn’t a burden, and that his place was right here. Not out on the streets. Not with Bonten. But here.
“I don’t want you to go.”
Haruchiyo swallowed thickly, finally, the effects of the night taking their toll on his tear ducts as his throat got tight with an unshed sob.
“Please. I can’t lose you again.”